Session IV, part I
savagery in the Duskmoon hills
Hulgor shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. He was no stranger to horses, but nearly two weeks of constant riding was beginning to take its toll on his backside. Since leaving Muffin’s Honor his days had been a fantastically boring combination of riding, sleeping and eating, and far too little of the latter two for his taste. The caravan train could only move as fast as the slowest wagon, which meant they cut a turtle’s pace of less than five leagues a day across the rolling landscape. They awoke at first light, usually after a long night watch, readied the horses and wagons, wolfed down a quick breakfast and started out. A cold lunch of hard tack and jerky eaten from horseback served as lunch. Dinner was the highlight of Hulgor’s day, when the men would pass ‘round the ale and relive the glories of days gone by.
Toward the end of the second week, the headmaster informed them that the caravan was taking a shortcut through Fool’s Pass, a seldom-used road that cut right through the Duskmoon hills and connected up with Traveler’s Way. It was risky, he said, but would shave nearly four days off the trip.
At this point,
anything would be welcome to break up the monotony as far as Hulgor was concerned, and late in the afternoon on the second day in the pass, something did.
The shadows were growing long on the grey hills, casting a gray shroud over the caravan. Hulgor could feel the tension growing amongst the guard. The light conversation that was normally a constant but welcome part of the day trickled and finally stopped altogether as the guards cast uneasy glances over their shoulders at the dark pools of shadows gathering around the hills, searching in vain for some hidden watcher.
It was Gwennid who spotted them first, catching a glint of light reflecting off a spear tip. She and Hulgor were patrolling the middle of the caravan, each on either side of a large grain wagon. At the same moment that she shouted a warning, a caravan driver further up the train screamed out: “
Grimlocks!” and reached for his sword.
As one, dozens of grimlocks leapt up from the ambush at the top of a crest and hurled their javelins at the long, lumbering caravan train. Screams filled the air as men were struck and fell. The creatures raced down the hill, cruel stone axes in hand, and battle was joined. Hulgor set his back to a wagon and met the charge head-on. One of the filthy gray-skinned creatures swung wildly at the half-orc, who parried a blow that would have easily lopped off his head had it struck. He ducked and narrowly missed a second overhead chop that bit into the wooden side of the wagon, sending a painful spray of splinters into his cheek.
Beside him, a guard had his legs cut out from under him and went down with a scream. Even with his foe writhing on the ground in agony, the grimlock did not let up in his attack, but continued to hack at him mercilessly with his axe. The man’s cries were brutally cut short.
Gwen was in a desperate predicament: two grimlocks had quickly surrounded her, looking for an easy kill. She ducked and weaved but did not entirely avoid the razor-sharp axes. Blood flowed freely from a jagged cut on her shoulder. Try as she might, she just could not hit them. Her twin blades danced in her hands, but the savages stayed just out of reach. The guard next to her had his head nearly severed from an axe-blow, dropping instantly with a spray of blood that soaked the nearby wagon.
Hulgor sidestepped an attack and brought his axe up in a short arc with all of his might, burying the thick blade deep in his foe’s stomach, lifting him of the ground and dropping him in a heap at his feet. He turned, swung, and tore a chunk out of the shoulder of the second grimlock. The creature twisted and swung his axe in a wide, low circle, slicing across Hulgor’s thigh, through the armor and deep into his flesh. Out of the corner of his eye, Hulgor saw the wagon driver fall and the attacker turn to face him. He shifted his stance to compensate for the second attacker, trying to watch both at the same time.
At the back of the wagon, Gwennid landed a solid blow, plunging her blade deep into the creature’s soft stomach. To her dismay, it jerked back, but
did not fall. The second grimlock countered and would have cut her arm clean off had she not jerked back at the last second. Still, she had a second nasty cut on her forearm, and almost dropped her sword. Knowing she wouldn’t last much longer, she jumped back and dove underneath the wagon, buying herself a few precious seconds while she considered her shrinking options.
The two grimlocks facing Hulgor launched a perfectly timed assault. He parried one attack and tried to duck out of the way of the second, but his opponent adjusted his swing and slammed his blade into the plate covering his chest. Hulgor stumbled back, dazed from the hit. His nice new armor spared him a lethal blow, but it now had an ugly ding. “I’ll be takin’ that from yer hide, ya filthy wretch,” he growled in a low voice at the grimlock.
The second grimlock lunged forward to finish him off, but didn’t anticipate how quickly his opponent could recover. Hulgor turned the attack and then drove his blade deep into the grimlock’s shoulder, nearly cutting him in two. Before the other grimlock could respond, he leapt to the side, swung, and cut his head off his shoulders.
Underneath the wagon, Gwennid easily kept the grimlocks at bay. To her left, she watched two guardsmen coming up on them from behind, swords in hand. She kept them distracted until the men attacked. One grimlock screamed and fell as the man hacked at him from behind. The other spun around with surprising speed and cut down the first guard. Gwen rolled out from underneath the wagon and slipped in behind the grimlock. Now
he was the one who was outnumbered.
The grimlock feinted to one side and then swung at the second guard from the other. As the guard deflected the blow, Gwen buried her sword in the creature’s side. He dropped to his knees, and Gwen kicked the dying creature face first into the blood-soaked mud.
The grimlocks broke and fled back up the hill, but the caravan train was now in complete disarray. Several horse teams panicked during the assault, causing many of the wagons to either flip or become stuck in the soft earth on the side of the road. The fallen were strewn along the roadside, and the moaning of the wounded filled the air.
“
MOVE YOUR BUTTS!” the caravan master shouted to the shocked men. “Get those wagons ready! Collect the fallen, the living and the dead, and get them on the rear wagons.
MOVE!”
The crew sprang into action, men running back and forth with renewed vigor. The unvoiced but very real fear of the grimlocks returning for a second attack pushed them into action even more than the bellowing caravan master.
Less than an hour later, the train was once again on the move. Hulgor and Gwen, though hurt, were well enough to ride, so they were put at the front, scouting for possible ambush. The caravan master didn’t allow the train to stop until deep into the night, afraid that the grimlocks might be following them. It was a rough night for everyone. They lost five men in the initial attack, and another two by morning. Including the wounded, their numbers had been cut in half. The next morning, they buried their dead.
Fortunately, the day passed by without incident. Late in the afternoon, Hulgor spotted the first totem. In all there were at least fifty of them, lining the northern side of the road. Most were knocked over and defaced, but those in the center of the long row were still intact. They were orc totems, he could see easily enough, the face of the one-eyed orc god sat atop each pole, beneath which were various depictions of gruesomely slain men, elves and dwarves.
Behind the totems was a large hill, an offshoot of the Dragonspire Mountains. At the base of the hill were two large gates that affronted an opening at its base. One had been torn off its hinge and lay on it side. The other was still intact, but badly burned. Still plain to see in the middle of it was a crudely drawn orc-face, with the words “
enter not or be crushed” written above in the orcish tongue.
He leaned over and pointed the writing out to Gwen, translating it for her. He then turned to one of the Wagoners. “What’s that all about?” he asked, pointing to the ruined gates.
“Used to be an orc tribe that lived there, years ago, but men of Endhome ran ‘em out. Was a pitched battle right at this very spot, from what I hear,” the old man replied. “Some folks say there’s still orcs livin’ deep in them caves, but I ain’t never seen one, and I’ve made this trip dozens a times.”
Hulgor looked over at Gwen, who made a hasty notation on the map they purchased back in Muffin’s Honor.
Later that night…
The two had gained new respect among the guards after their success against the grimlocks, which in turn earned them the most dangerous middle watch during the night. Their wounds, while far from healed, were at least properly bandaged, and the pain had lessened from a constant burning sensation to a low, dull ache.
They warmed themselves by the fire against the crisp night air. “I heard we’ll be out of these hills by tomorrow,” Gwennid said softly. “We should be in Endhome a couple of days after that.” Just thinking of the bustling city was enough to lift her spirits. All the adventure the bustling city promised, and more importantly, all the
wealth the city boasted.
“What then?” Hulgor asked.
“I dunno, I guess we’ll hit the taverns and see if we can find work. I can’t say that I know how adventurers go about finding adventure, but it shouldn’t be hard, if what they say of the city is true, intrigue around every corner and in every dark alley and all that. We did pretty good for ourselves in Muffin’s Honor, imagine what we can do in Endhome!”
“I can
imagine two little fish in a really big pond, that’s what I can imagine, Gwen.”
“Nonsense. Have you looked at yourself lately? Country boys don’t walk around in plate, Hulgor. We’ll do just fine, I’m telling you, we’re destined for big things, Hulgor.
Big. Things.”
Hulgor started to reply, but a strange scent caught his attention. He stopped with the words still in his mouth and sniffed the air. It smelled like…decay, he thought, and death.
Behind them, a twig snapped…
The caravan master circled the wagons each night, and the two had taken temporary refuge from the gusting wind inside the circle. Gwennid crept around one side of the wagon for a better look. Hulgor reached over, grabbed a stick from the fire, and hurled it over the wagon. It hit a nearby scrub tree, which immediately caught fire.
To her horror, Gwennid saw two zombies, rotting flesh still clinging to their creaking bones, moving toward them at a slow but determined pace. The dancing light from the fire played upon the faces of the creatures, drawing out their shadows and giving them an even more menacing appearance. Perhaps they were drawn in by the light of the campfire, or perhaps they had caught the scent of the wounded men sleeping in the wagons, but whatever the reason, they were approaching the encampment with the implacable resolve of the undead.
Hulgor leapt up, grabbed his axe, and moved between two wagons to block their approach. He could see no weapons in those putrescent hands, but the cold, dead eyes watched him with feral cunning. When they closed to within a few feet, the zombies lunged forward with an unexpected burst of speed. Hulgor sliced open the stomach of the nearest one, spilling out maggot filled innards, but the creature seemed unfazed by the mortal wound. It snarled and slammed into him. Hulgor was almost overcome by the incredible stench of the creature.
Gwennid sounded the alarm and engaged the second undead. She was stiff and sore from the battle with the grimlocks, and so did not move with her usual grace. She attacked, but the creature parried the blow with its bare hand, oblivious to the injury, and raked its claws across her chest, causing an explosion of pain to ripple across her body. She nearly wretched at the thought of those fetid claws digging into her. She fought back the urge to flee.
Next to her, Hulgor faired no better. He swung his axe a second time, sending the creature’s arm flying across the clearing, but the undead simply grabbed his axe shaft with its other hand and bit down into the unprotected flesh of his wrist. Hulgor screamed, his entire body went into convulsions, it felt like all of his muscles were cramping at once. To his horror he realized that he could not move!
Not realizing her friend’s plight, Gwennid once again sought refuge under the wagon. From the sound of the footsteps behind her, she knew that help was near. The zombie was single-minded, though, and crawled down beside the wagon after her. It snarled, bearing twisted, jagged teeth, and swiped at her with boney claws, seeking to drag her out from under the wagon. She jabbed the zombie in the face with her sword, shattering teeth, but it did no good. She swung her sword and sliced off the arm that the undead was using to balance itself, toppling it over into the mud.
Suddenly she heard Hulgor’s stifled pleas for help. She rolled out passed the flailing zombie to the other side of the wagon and stabbed the zombie from behind. At the same time, reinforcements arrived in the form of two guards. One grabbed the paralyzed, panicking Hulgor and drug him to safety while the other jammed his spear into the zombie, swung it around and pinned it to the earth. Gwennid turned and stabbed the zombie still wallowing in the mud next to the wagon again and again, until it finally stopped moving.
